


Hedonist

by star_child



Series: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Getting Together, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: (HEED-on-ist)nouna person who believes the pursuit of pleasure is the most important thing in life





	Hedonist

**Author's Note:**

> akaashi does as he's told. enter bokuto, left

_ BZZZZZZZT. BZZZZZZZT. BZZZZZZZT. _

Akaashi drops his highlighter.

Beside him on the table, his phone threatens to vibrate right off the edge, the screen flashing obnoxiously bright. Stopping the highlighter from rolling away with one hand, Akaashi dives for his phone with the other. He’s in a  _ library, _ for god’s sake, how could he have forgotten to silence it?

It’s not a phone call, he realizes after he’s hit the switch to silence it, but an alarm. Not like he gets many phone calls anyway.

_ Go home, _ the alarm is titled, the snooze button flashing below it. He checks the time at the top of the screen.  _ 11:00pm. _ His personal reminder to stop studying, if he’s going to make it back to his dorm in time to get eight hours of sleep before his first class tomorrow. Yesterday’s alarm went off as early as nine. Tomorrow's won’t go off until after midnight.

Sighing, Akaashi glances back at his textbook. He’s nearly at the end of the chapter, just another page. He can spend another – How long is the snooze? – eight minutes here. He’ll just walk home a little faster.

Akaashi hits the snooze button and goes back to highlighting.

 

Akaashi Keiji has friends.

He has… he  _ had _ friends. In high school. Kind of.

He had acquaintances.

None of them really kept in touch, but now he has new friends. New acquaintances. Who he sits beside silently in class and in the library, on the bus, exchanges nods of acknowledgment with. He doesn’t know their names, or their majors, or whether or not they’re from Tokyo…

Akaashi Keiji is rather lonely.

 

“Shit, fuck! I'm so sorry, shit, are you okay?”

Akaashi stares down at his once light gray t-shirt, now a wet, dark brown, the coffee seeping outward to soak his entire chest. It's hot, but not burning. He tilts his head up to look at the boy he's just collided with; he's taller than Akaashi, most likely older, with bizarre black and white hair.

“I'm fine,” he replies calmly. He gestures to the other boy’s shirt, a formerly white one that's now a similar color to Akaashi’s. “Are you okay? That was hot tea.”

They boy laughs once. It's short, his mouth pulls up higher on one side.  _ Cute. _ “Well that was black coffee. Also hot.” He winks. “But not as hot as you.”

Akaashi flushes, blames it on the coffee that suddenly feels like it's melting his skin. “I'll get us some napkins,” he mutters and darts away to the stand with napkins and straws, leaving the boy laughing behind him.

 

Akaashi startles as his chin slips from his hand, his reflexes kicking in just in time to stop him from smacking his chin on the desk and biting his tongue off. He jumps to sitting up straight, blinking as he tries to refocus on the lecture.

Luckily, the hall is large enough to keep him anonymous, just another kid in the crowd trying to stay awake. The professor probably doesn’t know his face enough to confront him, let alone his name to write him up.

Glancing to the side, he’s relieved to find his phone still sitting dutifully beside him, the seconds on the audio recorder ticking up and up and up. He keeps recordings so he can fine tune his notes later, clarify things. He supposes listening to the chunk where he was asleep will just be a more extreme version of that.

It doesn’t help that he has almost no interest in law. It’s dry, the details minute and boring, the whole subject feeling washed out in gray. Akaashi has taken to photographing his eyes at the end of each day, almost compulsively checking to see if the color is draining from them.

So far, they still appear as viridian as his first day.

He wonders how much longer they’ll last.

 

“Hey! I know you!”

Akaashi flinches at the loud voice, eyes straying to his phone for a moment to make sure it’s on silent before they raise to inspect his unwelcome visitor. He has to look up further than expected to eye the unmistakable salt and pepper hair. “I think you're mistaken.”

The boy places his palms on the table and leans down, somehow making both more intimidating and less so at the same time. He’s lower, but it’s a condescending lower. “No no!” he insists, a grin slipping into his voice. “I walked into you at the Starbucks in block eight! We spilled our drinks all over each other.” He frowns then, the expression change almost comical. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Really sorry.”

Akaashi glances to the side, embarrassed by the attention his voice is drawing and annoyed that his studying has been interrupted. It’s difficult for him to get into such a focused zone, given his distaste for the topic. “It’s all right, I don’t live too far from there so it wasn’t too much of a hassle.”

“Oh!” the boy cries, jumping back up. “That’s a relief! I was worried you’d have to get on the train like that, and walk for a long time –”

“Please lower your voice,” Akaashi mutters, neck and face heating up more as the boy successfully draws the attention of practically everyone around him. One girl even takes a headphone out.

“Oh!” He kneels down on the ground on the other side of Akaashi’s table so he’s at least not towering over him anymore. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, grinning.

Fiddling with his pens, Akaashi mutters, “It’s fine…”

The boy finally seems to catch a hint. “I’m sorry, are you trying to study? I’m so sorry, I’ll go, I just wanted to say hi and apologize again for spilling that coffee all over you… I’m Bokuto.” He holds out his hand, ridiculous as he has to reach over the table to do it.

Akaashi smiles, just a bit, and reaches out to awkwardly shake his hand. “Akaashi,” he returns.

 

Honestly, it’s kind of strange the two of them didn’t meet sooner.

Akaashi  _ always _ goes to that Starbucks at two pm on Mondays and Thursdays. He only has twenty minutes between his classes, not enough time for lunch, so he just grabs a tea with three sugars to keep him running. Probably unhealthy, and it doesn’t usually taste all that good, but he can’t focus on that when he has a degree to complete.

The same Starbucks is apparently Bokuto’s last stop of the day for a coffee, preferring to get all of his work done in the morning to leave his nights free. “So I never miss a party!” is his answer when Akaashi asks him why he would willingly subject himself to eight am classes  _ every day. _

“Why do you take your coffee black, then? If you’ve already had all your classes?” Akaashi asks, stirring in the third sugar packet. He doesn’t remember if he adds three to keep himself awake, or if it’s to improve the taste. It doesn’t really do either, but he likes his habits.

Bokuto sags in his chair, hiding half his face behind the paper cup. “Classes wear me  _ out,” _ he sighs. “I run errands and stuff in the afternoon, while most people have classes, and then by the time they get out and are ready to have some fun, I’m all set to go! I usually have a Monster or something before I go out for the night.”

Akaashi nods. “Do you run entirely on caffeine, or do you occasionally get some sleep too?”

“It’s almost entirely caffeine,” Bokuto laughs, sitting back up and taking a sip of his drink. “I like the taste, too.”

Akaashi can’t help but wrinkle his nose. His mother used to drink black coffee, and the taste she allowed him as a child made his entire face scrunch up worse than a lemon. He hasn’t been able to try it since.

Bokuto just laughs again, harder this time. “That’s the face everyone gives me! I know it’s bitter, I didn’t like it at first either. Definitely an acquired taste!” He looks proud as he says, “But I’ve been drinking it since high school. Boy did I get some strange looks back  _ then!” _ He slaps the table a bit in his laughter, and Akaashi finds himself smiling along.

“What made you start?” He tests his own drink, finds it sharp and a bit like what he’d imagine battery acid to be. Familiar.

“Well, I had the same…  _ lifestyle  _ in high school. Partied all night, y’know? Still had school in the morning, or didn’t want my parents to know if I was a little hungover… pumped myself full of coffee ‘till I was ready to go. Cream and sugar slowed it down.” He takes another gulp of coffee, smiling all the while. “Besides, I like the…” he twirls the cup a bit between his fingertips. “I don’t know. The naturalness of it.” He glances up through his eyelashes. “That make any sense?”

Akaashi nods.

“Yeah. Like the just… Straight from the earth. Not full of this and that and I  _ know _ cream and sugar are pretty natural things but like.” Bokuto snaps his fingers. “The simplicity! That’s what I like. Yeah forget all that crap about nature and natural and whatever. I like the simplicity.”

“I’m not sure all that caffeine is… entirely good for you,” Akaashi chuckles. “You drink one of these every day?  _ And  _ an energy drink?”

Bokuto waves a hand, dismissive. “Good for me, shmood for me –”

“Shmood?”

“– I like it! Tastes good, gives me energy.”

“You never seem to be lacking in energy,” Akaashi admits.

“You see?” Bokuto winks. “That means it’s working.”

 

Calls with his parents are always… he doesn't want to say  _ unpleasant,  _ but… At least they come few and far between.

_ “And how are your studies going?” _ his mother asks hardly a moment after they've exchanged pleasantries.

Akaashi sighs. “They're good,” he tells her, trying not to sound as bored as he is. Then, because he knows she won't be satisfied with that, “I've been studying hard every night, and it really pays off. I get A’s on all my tests.”

_ “A’s or A pluses?”  _ his father teases, only it doesn't sound entirely like a joke.

Still, Akaashi forces a laugh. “A pluses.”

 

“What do you major in?” Akaashi asks quietly. They're curled up on the couch in Bokuto’s apartment, sharing a bowl of fruit and trading questions. They've been here for about an hour, ever since Bokuto found him stress crying over a review packet in the library.

“Photography,” Bokuto replies at as low a volume as he can manage. “I'm in the art school part of… the school.”

Akaashi’s nose wrinkles automatically. “Photography?”

Bokuto nudges him with his foot. “You don't think photography's cool?”

“No I do, it's just… That's going to be difficult to find a job in. And I can't imagine it could pay all that well. Why bother?”

Tossing a blueberry in his mouth, Bokuto shrugs. “I love it. I love everything you can say with a photo, that it can be enjoyed by people of any language or status. The Earth can be a beautiful place, if you take the time to look.”

Akaashi mulls this over in his mind.

Before the silence stretches too long, Bokuto asks, “What about you? What's your major?”

“Pre law,” he replies.

“And what's your reasoning?”

“It's what my parents want,” Akaashi shrugs. “They're both lawyers, they want me to be just like them.”

Bokuto blinks, still.

Akaashi begins to fidget.

“What's  _ your  _ reasoning?”

“I just told you?”

Bokuto shakes his head. “You just told me about your parents. I wanna know why  _ you _ want to be a lawyer.”

Noticing that he's picking at his nails, Akaashi folds his hands in his lap. He clears his throat. “Well, I'll be able to find a steady job that has plenty of benefits, it'll pay well, and I'll be able to support a family.” They're reassurances he has practiced until his throat is raw.

Biting into a strawberry, Bokuto nods slowly. “My parents wanted me to be a doctor,” he finally says.

“Did they?” It's amusing to imagine Bokuto with normal hair, in scrubs as he takes someone's blood pressure or something.

“Yeah. A brilliant mind to pay the bills, or whatever. A lot like your folks.” He nods to himself as he finishes the strawberry. “But I just wasn't into it.”

“Being a doctor is a well respected profession,” Akaashi points out. “Not to mention the pay.”

Bokuto shrugs. “Science bores me. I have a friend who's super into all that shit, and he's all like, ‘how do you not find it cool??’ but it's just all boring to me. I don't care, I just like to take pictures.”

Akaashi contemplates this. He eats a couple grapes, comparing his situation to Bokuto’s, wondering about…

“What did your parents say? When you told them?”

“They told me if I was good at something, never do it for free, so I better study hard and get good at photography so I can make enough to stay alive.”

Akaashi laughs a little, wishing he had the courage Bokuto had.

 

Ever since their conversation about majors, Akaashi finds it harder and harder to lose himself in his work.

It's not that he despises law and every aspect of it. No, to a certain degree he even finds it comforting. There is a consequence for every action, hard lined and true. Later he's sure it will become much worse, when he has to study the loopholes and exploitations, the cancellations and fine print. But for now, he likes the certainty. The cold hard facts.

“Law and photography are a lot alike,” he says when Bokuto picks up.

_ “What?” _

“I used to dislike art,” he continues, not stopping to explain.

_ “Do you know how late it is?” _

“I disliked the ambiguity. My older is sister is a painter – she's wonderfully talented, her art is hung all over my house – and she would tell me about… about what art school was like.”

_ “...Your sister’s a painter?” _

“Yes. She was a sophomore in college when I was a third year in high school, and she'd call me every week or so to complain about a teacher she had. He would tell them to paint something based off a prompt, very vague and innocuous, and the whole class would return with wildly different results.”

_ “Sounds a lot like my classes.” _

“The trouble was, they would all present them, and some of them he just adored. Certain students got A’s, no critique, just a good grade, and some students would just get… Nothing.”

_ “What do you mean?” _

“She told me…” He lifts his voice to a slightly higher octave. “‘He'd just stand in front of me, Keiji, he wouldn't speak, just stare at my painting, and finally he’d just go ‘No,’ and move on.’ It infuriated her.”

_ “That's cool Akaashi, I mean it sucks for your sister, but how does this relate…?” _

“Too ambiguous, something like painting. But you and I, we study rules. Laws, the rules of photography. Ways to do things. And then we take what we've learned, and apply it to the situation.”

_ “I think the same can be said for painting?” _

“Maybe,” Akaashi allows. “Just a thought I had.”

It's quiet for a moment.

_ “Thanks for sharing. Goodnight, Akaashi.” _

“Goodnight.”

 

The next time his parents call, his sister is also on the phone. For once, the conversation is more about him than his grades, more about his parents lives than their precious law firm, more about his sister and art and the seasons, about interests and friends and cooking. It feels like what a family should.

_ “Who’s that new friend you were telling me about, Keiji?” _ his sister asks, a bit of a laugh still left in her voice from the story she just told.

“Oh,” he smiles, pleased to have been asked, “His name is Bokuto, he’s a year above me. He’s also an artist, nii-san.”

_ “Good! Everyone needs an artist in their life.” _

_ “It’s good to hear you’re making friends, darling,” _ his mother coos, and it’s so strange but so so wonderful to hear something as real and strong as happiness in her voice.

_ “What does he study?” _ his sister asks eagerly.

“Photography.”

_ “Ah! I love photography! You’ll have to send me some of stuff, okay? And go with him when he takes pictures!”  _ she gushes,  _ “It’s  _ so _ cool to see photographers shoot. Cuz you’re looking at the same thing they are, and it can be completely mundane, but then you look at their pictures of it and it’s like, it’s so different and it’s entirely consumed by a feeling you were only just barely noticing nipping at the edge and it’s…”  _ She sighs.  _ “God I love art.” _

His parents both laugh.  _ “We’re glad you have a passion,”  _ his father says.  _ “And Keiji, you should go with this boy! Make sure it doesn’t take time away from your studies, of course.” _

Akaashi bites back the pain that always seeps into his chest, the pain of seeing his hobbies and interests pushed aside to make way for school. “I will, otou-san.”

 

It takes three days for Akaashi to realize Bokuto has asked him out.

Just before they’d parted ways at the coffee shop on Thursday, Bokuto had grabbed his wrist and asked him if he wanted to get dinner with him Saturday night. He’d agreed with a polite, “I’d be happy to,” and continued on his way to class, and hadn’t thought about until he was getting ready that weekend.

“Where you headed?” his roommate asks as he gathers up his wallet and phone.

“Out to dinner,” Akaashi replies.

“Oooh, you’re actually going out? Somewhere that isn’t the library?” His roommate rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his arms to watch in interest as Akaashi ties his shoes. “Where’s dinner? Who are you going with?”

“Bokuto-san. He’s a year above us, do you know him?”

His roommate stills. “Bokuto Koutarou?”

Akaashi narrows his eyes. “Yes…?”

The other boy jumps off his bed. “Jesus, you’re going out looking like  _ that? _ Honey come here, let Teru fix this.”

“What’s wrong with how I look?” Akaashi asks, following his roommate regardless. He’s just in jeans and a t shirt, this is what he always wears.

“Bokuto’s been talking about you to anyone who will listen for  _ ages. _ If you show up looking like this doesn’t mean a thing it’ll crush him.”

“What do you…”

Terushima spins around, clutching a button down shirt, and sighs like this world truly exhausts him. “Honey you’re going on a date. Bokuto’s had a crush on you for like, months. Everyone knows it.” He thrusts the shirt into Akaashi’s hands, and he turns away to take off the old one and toss it on his bed.

_ “I  _ didn’t know it,” Akaashi murmurs. “We’ve only been hanging out for a few weeks.” He slips on the button up shirt and begins doing it up.

“He’s been ecstatic, dude, trust me.” Terushima bounces around in front of him and starts messing with his hair. “You got any makeup?”

Akaashi frowns. “No, I’m a guy.”

“Pff. Don’t worry, you can borrow some of mine.” He pushes Akaashi down on his bed, then darts back to his side of the room. For the next ten minutes, he lines Akaashi’s eyes with black eyeliner, fixes his hair, and covers his little blemishes with concealer.

“There,” he says proudly when he’s done, stepping back and urging Akaashi over to their mirror. “You look gorgeous.”

Akaashi has to agree. He’s not sure he’s ever looked this good. “Thank you, Teru-kun,” he smiles. The other boy smiles back, flashing him a thumbs up.

“Have fun tonight, honey!”

 

Dating Bokuto is spectacular. Akaashi has never been particularly close to anyone, never been called by his given name by anyone outside his family, never kissed or even held hands. He's never been anyone's top priority, their go-to person, until now.

“Keiji?” Bokuto mumbles, head lifting a few inches off his pillow, “Where ya goin’?”

Akaashi fiddles with the shirt he just pulled on. “Back to my dorm. I have class in the morning.”

Bokuto sits up as well now, instantly more awake. “You don't have to go,” he insists, lightly placing his hand on top of Akaashi’s. “My building is closer to your first class, isn't it?”

“Yes, but… I don't have any clothes here. Or a toothbrush, or deodorant…”

Bokuto leans forward, resting his head on Akaashi’s shoulder and mumbling in his ear, “You can just borrow mine. Stay with me, Keiji…” He presses his lips to the soft skin behind Akaashi’s ear, sucking with barely there pressure and starting to trail down his jaw.

“Koutarou…”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Bokuto promises, and then his teeth are scraping across Akaashi’s throat, and he melts back into the mattress.

 

To: Koutarou  
4:13pm  
_Hi, are you doing anything?_

From: Koutarou  
4:13pm  
_boutta go take some pics actually_

From: Koutarou  
4:13pm  
_you can totes come if u want?? might be boring_

To: Koutarou  
4:14pm  
_I’d love to come, if that’s all right with you._

From: Koutarou  
4:15pm  
_yo lit_

From: Koutarou  
4:15pm  
_meet me in front of my building??_

To: Koutarou  
4:16pm  
_That sounds good. I’ll see you in a few minutes._

 

Watching Bokuto take pictures is amazing. For as long as Akaashi has known him, Bokuto’s eyes have always radiated clarity and focus. He devotes all of his attention to whatever he’s doing and whoever he’s with, sharp eyes catching everything. When he takes pictures, all of that focus is honed on something abstract, or least something that Akaashi can’t see.

They wander through a park just off campus as the sun sets. Akaashi carries an umbrella to shield him from the mist, but apparently Bokuto and his camera are waterproof, because the sun could be shining given how little Bokuto is concerned.

Around five pm, he lies on his side on the path, pointing his camera at a bench and snapping almost a dozen pictures, shifting minutely between each one.

Half an hour later, he jumps into the lower branches of a tree, juts his arm as far away as possible, points his camera at the ground, and takes a picture. He climbs as high as he dares before Akaashi calls him back down, snapping pictures every few feet.

With the last rays of sunlight, Bokuto starts running back and forth through bushes, Akaashi  _ thinks  _ he’s taking pictures? He doesn’t ask to see them.

After the sun has gone down, Bokuto finally seems to remember he has another person with him. “Keiji!” he cries, grabbing his hand. “Will you model for me?”

Akaashi laughs nervously, rubbing his neck with his free hand. “I don’t know Koutarou, I’m not sure I’d be very good…”

“Nonsense, you’re literally gorgeous, first of all, and you don’t have to do much, I promise!”

“Okay…”

Bokuto pulls him over closer to a lamp post. “The ground is wet,” he says by way of apology, “But it’ll make the picture look  _ great. _ Just lie down on your back with your head right here and close your eyes.” He hops back a few feet to let Akaashi get in position.

The grass is wet, but it’s cool and refreshing, and he has enough faith in his boyfriend that he’s sure the pictures will be worth it. He can hear Bokuto approach, standing half a meter or so back from his head and taking pictures. He moves again, and Akaashi opens his eyes to see him standing over his hips, bent forward with the camera held at arm’s length in front of him.

Akaashi bursts out laughing.

“Ah! Keiji!”

“I’m sorry, Kou,” Akaashi laughs, “You just look ridiculous right now.”

Bokuto relaxes from the stance, stepping to the side so Akaashi isn’t caged on the ground. “Photography rule number one: you do anything for the picture,” he smiles.

“Like lying on the wet ground and getting completely soaked?” Akaashi holds his hand up.

Bokuto takes it, pulling him to his feet. “Exactly.”

 

Akaashi is scrolling through the pictures Bokuto sent him – they’re completely unedited, he calls them ‘raw’ – when a scantron lands on his desk.

His heart stops.

They have a unit test today.

He knew,  _ he fucking knew _ about this test, has been going over the sections for a week. He meant to go over the last and biggest section the night before, thought maybe he could go out with Bokuto for just a little bit before going home and reviewing, but it slipped his mind. He didn’t think he’d be out until ten, then at Bokuto’s apartment until almost one. He didn’t think he would  _ completely forget _ about a  _ unit test. _

He’s so fucked.

 

Four hours after the grade goes in online, he gets a call from his parents.

_ “We saw your latest test grade,” _ his mother says, and he can hear the unhappiness in her voice.

He tries to play innocent. “Oh, is it in already? I haven’t checked.” That, at least, is not a lie.

_ “You got a sixty eight, Keiji.” _

His stomach heaves; he nearly throws up. He’s  _ never  _ gotten so low of a grade. He can count on one hand the times he’s gotten below an eighty five. A curse slips out of him before he can stop it.

“I – I’d been studying. I went over every section but the last one, I’m sorry.”

_ “Why didn’t you go over it?”  _ his father asks. He sounds genuinely curious, and Akaashi can’t blame him. He’s never gone into a test so unprepared.

“I meant to. Nii-san said I should watch a photographer take pictures, so I was out with Kou– Bokuto-san for most of the night. I got home late, I forgot to study.”

The line is quiet, and Akaashi’s gut clenches anxiously as he imagines the look his parents are sharing.

_ “Honey, if this Bokuto is impacting your grades to such a degree… maybe it’s best if you stop seeing him.” _ His mother sounds gentle, like she’s explaining to a toddler why he can’t have too many cookies, like she knows what’s  _ best  _ for him, whether he likes it or not.

But when has Akaashi ever disobeyed his parents?

Though his throat constricts around the words, Akaashi agrees.


End file.
